Read Online Ice Diaries by Lexi Revellian - Free Book Online Page A

food and drink. None
of us are Scottish, but ceilidh seems to cover the mixed activities
of the gathering better than any other word, and one of the most fun
things we do is Scottish country dancing. Paul has a wind-up
gramophone and some old 78s with Scottish dance tunes, and Archie
found a couple of books, Scottish Ceilidh Dancing and The
Swinging Sporran . We had a hilarious time teaching ourselves how
to dance, and now we’re quite good at it.
    This ceilidh was at Claire and Paul’s,
to make it easy for them with Toby. It was really my turn to host it.
Morgan hadn’t returned by seven-thirty when Greg called to walk
over there with me. I wrote him a note:
    Yo Morgan,
    I’m at the ceilidh at Paul and
Claire’s in Shakespeare Tower in the Barbican …
    Would he know it?
    … it’s one of the three
brutalist towers southwest of here, less than a mile away, the one in
the middle. If you get back in time, do come if you’d like to.
You’ll see the lights from close to. It’s the most fun
you’ll have around here with your clothes on.
    Tori
    I reread this, had second thoughts, and
wrote it out again without the final sentence before setting off with
Greg across the snow.

    I unlaced my mountaineering boots,
slipped out of my ski trousers (my skinny jeans were underneath) and
into the Balenciaga ankle boots I’d brought with me. The room
looked its best in the light of a dozen candles, the cushions’
bright colours glowing cosily. In daylight it looks a bit the worse
for wear. It’s difficult to keep a room immaculate when you
have a child and no running water. Nina and Archie were on the sofa
talking to Gemma, and Greg went to join them.
    “Hi Tori,” said Claire.
“Morgan not with you? I was looking forward to meeting him. I’m
the only one who hasn’t.”
    “He’s out, I left him a
note. Maybe he’ll come later.” I showed her the two tins
of soup I’d brought. “Shall I open these?”
    Paul came and took them. Claire poured
me a glass of wine. “Will you be godmother to Toby? Archie’s
going to christen him.”
    “I’d be delighted –
as long as you don’t mind me not being very religious.”
    “I’m not either, but it’ll
please Archie and anyway, the ceremony will be nice.”
    “Who are the other godparents?”
    “Greg and Archie. It’ll be
a little tricky for him conducting the service as well as making the
responses as a godfather, but I’m sure he’ll rise to the
occasion.”
    Claire looked well; she seemed very
happy. She told me you could tell Toby was intelligent already by the
way he squinted at you and waved his hands. I thought she was joking,
but realized in the nick of time she was entirely serious. As I was
lighting my candle Gemma came over. She wore a pink tutu over her
jeans, and Mickey Mouse ears on a headband.
    “My tooth came out.” She
opened her mouth and pointed to a gap in her front teeth. “I’m
having to lisp till my tongue gets used to it.”
    “Then you should be getting your
first visit from the Tooth Fairy tonight.”
    “That’s what Mummy said.
But I want to keep the tooth, it’s my favourite tooth, so I
might not put it under my pillow.”
    Once Charlie and Sam had arrived and
everyone had admired Gemma’s tooth, we settled down to play
Monopoly, sitting on the rug between the two big sofas, the board in
the middle. We play a fast and ruthless game, cheerfully bankrupting
the vulnerable and taking advantage of any inattention to get away
without paying rent – something that gets a good deal likelier
as the game progresses and we are collecting food from the buffet
between moves. When Sam was fetching steak and kidney pie, she missed
me landing on her Mayfair with a hotel on it – something I
gleefully pointed out once Paul had had a turn and her chance had
passed.
    Gemma is as merciless as the rest of
us, but we go a bit easier on her as she is only six and gets upset
if she is first out. She always has the boat as it’s her
favourite token.